This is an excerpt from the introduction of Stretched: A Study for Lent and the Entire Christian Life by Christopher Richmann (1517 Publishing, 2026).
We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
Confession isn’t a detour in the liturgy. It’s the doorway.

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Terror and even hatred of God are the only things with which divine hiddenness can leave us.
We expect the world to shoot its wounded. But not even the world expects Christians to shoot their wounded.
Are people so different today? Is justification really irrelevant now? Is the preacher’s only point of contact with the life-giving Gospel a by-product of Microsoft’s word processor? I do not think so.
The law does not end sin, does not make new beings, it only makes matters worse.
Should we have more victories over our sin? Probably. But can we be honest and admit that we don't have as many as we'd like?
Christ’s indwelling in the Christian must be tied relentlessly to these external and objective events of God’s own action.
When Jesus spoke about mustard-seed-sized-faith that moved mountains, He wasn't making a quantitative statement as much as a qualitative one.
Imagine what it would be like if, when people in our community thought about this congregation, the first thing that came to mind was how forgiving we are.
The kingdom of Christ is realized where nothing but comfort and the forgiveness of sins reign not only in words to proclaim it, which is also necessary; but also in deed.
Whatever theoretical or conceptual ideas to which we surrender in despair, the Christian faith offers something wholly different. It offers a person.
Forgiveness, not love, can restore a relationship that’s top-heavy with negative emotions.
By pouring out his life unto death, Jesus reverses our death.